LlbKAKY 


STRANGE 

FI^OM   MUMBLE 
I2ST    -A.SZE3I 


SANDERSON 


AND  LITTLE  ALICE. 


J°UBLI»HKD    BY    ^ERMISSION    OF    THB    AUTHOR. 


PUBLISHED  BY 


PHILADELPHIA  CONFERENCE  TRACT  SOCIETY, 

AT  METHODIST  EPISCOPAL  BOOK  ROOMS, 
1018  ARCH  STEEET,  PHILADA. 


NOTE  TO  THE  SECOND  SEEIES, 


THE  reader  may  rest  assured  these  narratives  are 
substantially  true,  as  many  persons  now  living  in  the 
neighborhood  can  testify.  The  names  mentioned  are 
real  names,  both  of  persons  and  places.  Some  of  them, 
as  in  the  former  case,  have  arisen  from  my  connection 
with  the  Chapel  for  the  Destitute. 

I  am  surprised  and  thankful  for  the  reception  given 
to  the  first  eleven  Tales,  now  constituting  the  First 
Volume — nearly  half  a  million  of  which  have  been 
sold  in  a  few  months — and  the  urgent  request  of  many 
friends  that  I  would  furnish  them  with  more,  induces 
me  again  to  dip  into  my  diary,  where  many  more  yet 
remain. 

I  am  a  tradesman,  and  make  no  pretensions  to  liter- 
ary ability.  If  He  whom  I  desire  to  serve  condescends 
to  use  me  as  a  medium  of  good  to  others,  my  earnest 
wish  will  be  realized.  To  Him  my  prayer  has  been, 
:<  HOLD  THOU  MY  EIGHT  HAND." 

J.  ASHWOKTH. 

Rochdale,  1866. 


iratf     ttb 


King  Street,  or  Packer  Meadow,  is  considered 
by  the  inhabitants  of  Rochdale  as  anything  but 
a  respectable  section  of  the  town.  One  or  two 
of  the  residents  in  the  lower  part  are  in  moder- 
ate circumstances,  but  at  the  upper  end  the 
houses  are  of  the  most  wretched  description. 
Sanderson,  the  subject  of  this  narrative,  occu- 
pied one  of  the  better  houses,  and  my  acquaint- 
ance with  him  began  through  the  howling  of  his 
dog,  a  dark,  red,  bushy-tailed  animal,  so  like  a 
fox,  that  he  had  got  that  marauder's  name. 

In  one  part  of  the  street  a  poor  man  lay  dy- 
ing. I  was  called  in  to  read  and  pray  with  him, 
and  had  sat  by  his  bed  some  time,  when  Fox 
came  underneath  the  window,  and  set  up  a  most 
dismal  howl.  Jane  Moorehouse,  a  relative  of 
the  dying  man,  sprang  up  from  her  seat,  ex- 
claiming, "It  is  all  over  with  Richard.  Fox  is 
shouting,  and  when  that  dog  shouts,  death  is 
sure  to  follow;  it  never  misses  when  he  howls 
in  the  night." 

"Does  the  dog  belong  to  some  one  in  the 
neighborhood?"  I  asked. 

"Yes,"  was  her  answer,  "it  belongs  to  San- 
derson, a  man  that  neither  believes  in  heaven 
nor  hell,  God  nor  devil  ;  and  never  is  any  per- 


2  SANDERSON 

» 

son  about  to  die  in  this  street,  but  Fox  howls, 
as  the  sure  sign  of  death.  He  howled  when 
Moss  and  Simpson  died,  and  hastened  their  end; 
if  he  howled  under  my  window  I  should  expect 
to  die  in  twelve  hours.  0,  how  I  tremble!" 
On  leaving  the  sick  man's  chamber,  and  reach- 
ing the  street,  Fox  was  walking  quickly  up  and 
down,  still  making  his  really  fearful  noise;  but 
a  touch  from  my  walking-stick  sent  him  speed- 
ily home. 

It  is  no  easy  matter  to  divest  ourselves  of  the 
superstitious,  tormenting  traditions  imbibed  in 
early  years.  The  howling  of  dogs  is  considered 
a  prelude  of  death  by  thousands.  We  know 
that  dogs  howl  at  the  sound  of  music,  or  when 
the  moon  is  rising  on  a  clear,  calm  night, 
"  baying  the  moon,"  as  Shakespeare  calls  it. 
On  hot,  sultry  nights  they  often  howl  to  each 
other;  and  that  some  dogs  can  scent  decaying 
animal  matter  at  a  great  distance,  and,  smelling 
it,  will  give  a  howl  indicating  the  discovery,  is 
well  known.  Many  contend  that  this  is  the 
true  philosophy  of  their  shouting  when  near  the 
houses  of  the  dying.  But  this  does  not  apply 
in  all  cases,  and,  perhaps  in  none ;  it  cannot  ap- 
ply to  the  healthy,  though  Mrs.  Moorehouse  be 
lieved  it  did,  and  it  is  a  pity  that  the  sick  should 
be  frightened  by  any  such  foolish  superstition. 
The  shooting  of  cinders  from  the  fire  foretelling 


AND   LITTLE  ALICE.  3 

a  coffin,  bad  luck  from  light- haired  persons 
"  taking  in  "  the  new  year,  the  cracking  of  fur- 
niture and  the  howling  of  dogs  indicating  death, 
belong  to  a  day  when  Sunday-schools  were  un- 
known, when  books  were  few,  and  witches  and 
fortune-tellers  plentiful. 

The  old  lady's  description  of  Sanderson's 
creed,  or,  rather  no  creed,  I  found  to  be  correct. 
His  hatred  to  "  parsons  "  (as  he  called  ministers) 
was  intense  ;  the  sight  of  one  of  them  operated 
upon  him  like  the  sight  of  water  to  a  mad  dog, 
and  made  him  howl  almost  as  loud  as  his  own 
old  Fox.  Sanderson  was  a  machine  card-maker 
by  trade.'  He  had  several  acquaintances  of  his 
own  way  of  thinking,  and  on  Sundays  they  were 
often  found  together,  rambling  through  tho 
fields,  or  reading  their  favorite  books:  and  news- 
papers, and  hardening  each  other  in  t^ieir  gloomy 
principles.  He  was  about  thirty-five  years  of 
age,  when  his  neighbors  began  to  talk  of  his 
altered  looks;  his  stout  form  was  giv'ng  way, 
severe  coughing  set  in,  and  he  was,  in  the  opin- 
ion of  many,  a  marked  man.  In  mis(y  or  cold 
weather  he  kept  his  room,  and  ultimately  be- 
came unable  to  walk  up  and  down  stoirs.  An 
old  shoemaker,  named  Philip  Powles,  n  Primi- 
tive Methodist,  became  much  concerned  about 
the  spiritual  state  of  his  dying  infidel  neighbor; 
ke,  however,  durst  not  go  to  see  him  himself, 


4  SANDERSON 

but  earnestly  entreated  Mr.  Britton,  a  zealous 
Primitive  Methodist  minister,  to  undertake  the 
hazardous  task. 

Mr.  Britton  went  to  see  Sanderson,  at  the  re- 
quest of  the  anxious  shoemaker.  On  entering 
the  house,  he  informed  Mrs.  Sanderson  of  his 
wish  to  see  her  husband,  adding,  that  he  was  in- 
formed he  was  an  infidel,  but  had  come  to 
talk  with  him  about  his  soul,  for  he  was  sure  he 
had  one. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  you  have  called  on  such  an 
errand,  for  I  am  sure  my  husband  will  not  see 
you,  and  it  would  very  much  vex  and  disturb 
him  if  he  knew  you  were  in  the  house.  I  am 
pained  that  it  is  so,"  observed  Mrs.  Sander- 
son. 

"  I  am  come  purposely  to  disturb  him  ;  for  he 
had  better  be  disturbed  here  than  damned  here- 
after. If  God,  in  His  mercy,  does  not  disturb 
him,  he  will  be  lost  forever!  Just  go  up  stairs 
if  you  please,  and  ask  if  I  may  see  him." 

Poor  woman !  she  knew  not  what  to  do.  She 
Was  atraid  to  offend  her  husband  or  the  min- 
ister ;  but  Mr.  Britton  persisted,  and  at  last 
she  went  up  stairs,  and  began  quietly  to  ar- 
range the  various  little  things  about  the  room, 
fearing  to  tell  her  real  errand ;  but  Sanderson 
had  heard  a  strange  voice  in  the  house,  and  in- 
quired who  was  below. 


AND    LITTLE    ALICE.  5 

"A  gentleman  of  the  name  of  Britton,  whom 
Philip  Powles  requested  to  call  and  see  you ;  I 
think  he  is  the  minister  of  Philip's  church." 

"  Tell  him  that  I  shall  not  see  him,  and  when 
I  need  him  or  any  other  parson,  I  will  let  them 
know."  He  spoke  these  words  so  sharply  that 
Mrs.  Sanderson  quickly  left  the  room,  and  closed 
the  door  after  her. 

"  Well,  what   does   he   say  ?"  asked  Mr.  B. 

"That  he  will  not  see  you  or  any  other  min- 
ister," was  her  reply. 

"I  have  a  good  mind  to  kneel  down  at  the 
bottom  of  the  stairs  and  pray  so  loud  that  he  will 
hear.  The  Lord  have  mercy  upon  him  before 
it  be  too  late  !" 

Mr.  Britton's  colleague,  hearing  of  the  matter, 
charged  him  with  being  "  soft,"  and  determined 
to  go  himself  and  see  the  infidel,  whatever  con 
sequences  might  follow. 

Sanderson  had  strictly  ordered  his  wife  noi 
to  allow  any  parson,  or  professor  of  religion  by 
any  means  to  enter  the  room.  She  knew  hi? 
temper,  and  when  the  second  Primitive  minis- 
ter came,  she  told  him  of  her  peremptory  or. 
ders 

"  Well,  but  I  have  come  to  see  him,  and  I  in- 
tend to  see  him,"  was  the  answer,  "and  if  you 
dare  not  ask  permission,  I  will  go  up  at  once, 
&,nd  take  all  consequences." 

a 


O  SANDERSON 

Fortunately,  her  husband  heard  all  the  con- 
versation, and  called  from  the  top  of  the  stairs, 
that  "  if  any  parson  dared  to  enter  his  room, 
he  would  smash  his  brains  out  with  the  poker."  I 
give  his  own  words,  that  the  reader  may  better 
understand  the  morose,  untamed  character  of  the 
man.  He  also  ordered  his  wife  to  fetch  a  police- 
man to  turn  him  out  immediately.  This  caused 
our  good  Primitive  brother  to  beat  a  retreat,  and 
rather  altered  his  opinion  of  Mr.  Britton's  "  soft- 
ness." 

Now,  Sanderson  was  one  of  those  characters 
whom  circumvention  would  most 'readily  over- 
come. He  was  an  intelligent  reader  of  one  class 
of  books,  and  always  ready  for  an  argument : 
he  was  extreme  in  politics,  entertaining  repub- 
lican notions;  his  collection  of  books  was  nu- 
merous for  a  man  in  his  position  ;  his  knowledge 
of  history  was  extensive,  and  he  always  main- 
tained that  all  civil  evils  sprang  from  either 
king-craft,  or  priest-craft.  Cobbett's  "  Legacy 
to  Parsons,"  and  Paine's  "  Two-pennyworth  of 
Common  Sense,"  were  his  text  books.  All 
these  things  I  learned  respecting  Sanderson,  and 
the  question  wa"s,  How  shall  this  man  be  brought 
to  see  his  deplorable  condition? 

When  the  deer-stalker  ascends  the  wild  moun- 
tains with  the  object  of  shooting  the  timid  roe, 
he  fii  ds  the  greatest  caution  necessary  to  accom- 


AND  LITTLE  ALICE.  7 

plish  his  purpose.  The  red  Indian,  hunting  the 
prairie  buffalo,  will  lean  on  his  gun,  immovable 
as  the  stump  of  the  tree,  to  allay  all  suspicion  on 
the  part  of  his  intended  victim.  May  there  not 
also  be  benevolent  stratagem  ?  And  is  not  this 
the  only  possible  plan  in  some  cases? 

A  child  was  made  the  means  of  opening  the 
way  which  the  two  Primitive  Methodists  could 
not  force.  She  was  one  of  our  Bailie-street 
scholars,  a  nice  reader  for  her  age,  and  could 
repeat  a  few  hymns  with  good  effect. 

The  old  shoemaker  came  to  my  house,  and 
with  much  feeling,  desired  me  to  try  to  see  San- 
derson. He  told  me  how  he  had  treated  the 
ministers,  but  earnestly  besought  that  I  would 
make  an  effort.  After  reflecting  for  a  day  or 
two  on  the  .best  plan  to  adopt,  I  fixed  on  the 
Sunday-school  child  to  open  the  way.  The  lit- 
tle girl  often  went  to  see  Sanderson,  and  I 
learned  that  he  was  very  fond  of  her.  I  prom- 
ised the  child  a  present  if  she  would  learn  well  a 
short  hymn,  and  afterwards  go  up  to  Mr.  San- 
derson's room  and  say  it  to  him.  She  very 
willingly  undertook  the  task,  and  in  two  days 
was  ready.  She  attended  well  to  the  directions 
I  gave  her,  and  about  three  in  the  afternoon 
went  up  to  the  sick  infidel's  room. 

"  Well,  Alice,  are  you  come  to  see  your  sick 
friend?"  observed  Sanderson. 


SANDERSON 

"Yes,  I  have  learned  a  new  piece,  and  am 
come  to  say  it  to  you.  Will  you  let  me?" 

Sanderson  was  quietly  rocking  himself  in  his 
arm-chair,  with  his  feet  on  a  small  footstool,  and 
his  back  towards  the  window.  He  took  the 
child's  book,  saying — "Now,  then,  be  very  care- 
ful and  say  it  well ;  mind  you  do  not  miss  one 
word." 

Alice  stood  before  him,  folded  her  hands,  and 
in  a  full,  clear  voice,  began : 

"  When  life's  tempestuous  storms  are  o'er, 
How  ca'.m  he  meets  the  friendly  shore, 

Who  died  on  earth  to  sin  1 
Such  peace  on  piety  attends, 
That  where  the  sinner's  pleasure  ends, 

The  good  man's  joys  begin. 

"See,  smiling  patience  smoothes  his  brow. 
See  the  kind  angels  waiting  now 

To  waft  his  soul  on  high ; 
While,  eager  for  the  blest  abode, 
He  joins  with  them  to  praise  the  God 

That  taught  him  how  to  die. 

"  The  horrors  of  the  grave  and  hell, 
Those  sorrows  which  the  wicked  feel, 

In  vain  their  gloom  display; 
For  He  who  bids  the  comets  burn, 
And  makes  the  night  descend,  can  turn 
His  darkness  into  day. 

"  No  sorrows  drown  his  lifted  eyes, 
No  horror  wrests  the  struggling  sighs, 

As  from  the  sinner's  breast; 
His  God,  the  God  of  peace  and  love, 
Pours  sweetest  comforts  from  above, 

Then  takes  his  soul  to  rest." 

When  the  child  had  finished  the  hymn,  San 
Person  handed  her  back  the  book,  and  quietly 


AND    LITTLE    ALICE.  9 

said,  "  That  will  do,  you  may  go  down  and  take 
Fox  with  you ;  I  want  to  have  no  company  for 
the  present." 

I  sought  an  early  interview  with  the  child 
On  asking  what  Sanderson  said,  her  artless  an- 
swer was,  "  He  put  the  book  on  his  face,  and  1 
think  he  cried." 

* 

The  following  day,  while  the  sick  man  was 
pacing  his  room,  he  found  a  tract  on  one  of  the 
chairs:  he  took  it  up,  read  a  few  lines,  sat  down, 
and  read  it  all.  He  knew  a  great  part  of  it  to 
be  true :  with  most  of  the  circumstances  nar- 
rated he  was  acquainted.  Some  events  con- 
nected with  the  death  of  a  man  in  the  same 
street  were  such,  that  it  had  been  thought  ad- 
visable to  publish  them.  Sanderson  knew  the 
man,  had  heard  much  about  him,  and  was 
anxious  to  know  more.  He  called  his  wife  up 
stairs,  and  asked  her  how  the  tract  had  got  into 
his  room.  She  answered  that  "  Mr.  Ash  worth 
had  been  giving  them  out  amongst  the  neigh- 
bors, that  she  had  read  it,  and  thought  that  it 
would  interest  him." 

"Did  John  Ashworth  request  you  to  place 
the  tract  in  my  room?"  he  asked. 

"  He  did  ;  he  often  asks  about  you,  and  sayp 
he  should  like  to  come  and  talk  politics  with 
you." 

"  Well,  go,  and  tell  him  that  if  he  can  come 


10  SANDERSON 

this  evening,  and  tell  me  who  wrote  the  tract, 
and  talk  politics  as  you  say,  I  shall  be  glad  oi 
his  company." 

Mrs.  Sanderson  immediately  made  me  ac- 
quainted with  her  husband's  request,  and  that 
evening  I  paid  him  my  first  visit.  After  satis- 
fying him  respecting  the  authorship  of  "  Poor 
Joseph  "  (the  title  of  the  tract),  he  immediately 
asked  what  I  thought  of  the  Catholic  Eman- 
cipation Bill;  "for,"  said  he,  "I  have  been 
reading  on  the  subject." 

I  replied,  that  "  governments  had  greviously 
mistaken  their  proper  and  legitimate  jurisdic- 
tions in  meddling  with  such  subjects,  from  Con- 
stantine  downwards ;  that  Caesar  and  God  could 
never  be  brought  together  by  acts  of  parliament ; 
that  the  true  province  of  government  was  to 
secure  the  civil  rights  of  all ;  neither  to  smile 
nor  frown  on  any  sect  or  creed,  but  treat  them 
all  alike  ;  that  if  this  plan  had  always  been  ad- 
hered to,  neither  Popery,  Protestantism,  nor 
Dissent  would  have  been  heard  of,  and  that 
contentions  for  supremacy  would  never  cease 
until  this  simple  remedy  was  adopted  "  Our 
conversation  lasted  till  late,  and  I  left  without 
any  direct  reference  to  religion. 

Some  may  think  that  I  was  trifling — may  be 
disposed  to  blame  me,  and  ask,  "  What  if  he  had 
died  that  night !  died  in  his  sins  !  died  rejecting 


LITTLE  ALICE.  1\ 

mercy !  how   could   you   have  reconciled  your 
conscience  in  neglecting  a  plain  duty  ?" 

My  answer  is,  I  did  not  think  he  was  so  far 
gone  in  consumption,  but  that  he  probably 
would  linger  still  for  many  weeks  or  months ; 
and,  also,  I  thought  I  was  taking  the  most 
likely  measures  to  accomplish  my  object  For 
several  nights  I  went  to  see  him,  had  long  and 
interesting  conversations  on  various  subjects, 
but  still  left  as  at  first. 

On  taking  up  my  hat  to  leave,  on  the  sixth 
evening,  he  was  walking  to  and  fro.  He,  as 
usual,  put  out  his  hand  to  bid  me  good  night, 
but  the  grasp  was  firmer  and  much  longer 
than  before.  He  looked  me  full  in  the  face, 
and  said,  with  a  trembling  voice,  "Mr.  Ash- 
worthj  how  is  -it  that  you  never  speak  to  me 
about  my  soul  ?" 

"Why,  Sanderson,  have  you  got  a  soul?"  I 
said. 

He  let  go  my  hand,  and  began  again  to  pace 
the  room.  I  still  stood  with  my  hat  in  my  hand, 
but  under  the  most  intense  excitement.  Now, 
I  thought,  the  next  word  he  speaks  will  reveal 
the  inward  workings  of  his  mind  With  his 
finger  he  pointed  to  the  chair  from  which  I  had 
just  risen,  evidently  wishing  me  to  be  reseated. 
I  obeyed  in  silence.  Still  walking  about  the 
room,  he  took  out  his  handkerchief,  and  putting 

27 


12  SANDERSON 

it  to  his  face,  he  groaned  out  at  last  with  a 
choking  voice — 

"  0,  Mr.  Ash  worth !  Mr.  Ashworth !  I  am  a 
miserable  man.  That  child's  hymn,  and  '  Poor 
Joseph '  have  crushed  me  to  the  dust !  I  have 
held  out  as  long  as  I  can ,  whatever  must 
I  do  ?" 

O,  what  joy  sprang  up  from  my  soul  in  an 
instant.  "  Whatever  must  I  do  ?"  from  the  bro- 
ken-hearted infidel,  was  music  to  me ,  yet  I 
could  not  speak  one  word  for  several  minutes. 
We  wept  together.  At  length  I  said,  "  Thank 
God,  Sanderson,  that  question  has  not  come  too 
late  !  there  is  an  answer,  and  there  is  but  one. 
0,  my  dear  friend,  if  scepticism,  if  infidelity  could 
make  a  man  happy,  I  should  have  been  happy 
at  one  period  of  my  life  ;  but  it  ne*er  did,  it  never 
can  It  is  a  gloomy,  blighting,  blasting,  wither- 
ing curse,  and  makes  its  dupe  a  miserable  living 
lie,  and  sinks  him  lower  than  the  brute.  The 
magnificent  heavens,  the  earth  bespangled  with 
ten  thousand  tints  of  beauty,  and  the  deep  solemn 
ocean,  speak  with  a  voice  that  would  almost  im- 
press the  solid  rock.  The  very  dust  under  the 
infidel's  feet  mocks  his  incredulity ,  every  atom 
has  its  purpose.  The  wonderful  harmony  and 
adaptation  of  the  physical  universe  strike  the  ob- 
server with  awe.  God's  material  world  displays 
His  Physical  government,  God's  revealed  Word 


AND   LITTLE    ALICE.  13 

nnfolds  His  moral  government ;  and  there  we 
find  that  reconciliation,  union,  and  communion 
with  God  are  absolutely  necessary  to  secure  the 
happiness  of  man.  Man  forsaking  God  lost 
peace ;  man  must  return  to  God  or  remain  mis- 
erable. Our  redemption  through  Christ  opens 
the  way,  and  this  is  the  answer  to  your  question, 
'  Believe  in  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and  thou 
shalt  be  saved.' ' 

While  I  was  speaking,  the  poor  broken-hearted 
penitent  covered  his  face  with  his  hands;  the 
tears  dropt  through  his  fingers,  and,  with  the 
greatest  earnestness,  he  requested  me  to  pray 
with  him. 

There  are  periods  when  the  most  eloquent 
language  is  a  very  feeble  representative  of  the 
soul's  workings ;  emotions  too  deep  for  words 
choke  the  utterance.  Such  was  the  moment 
when  Sanderson  and  I  knelt  down  to  pray.  But 
if  prayer  be  the  soul's  sincere  desire,  we  prayed; 
if  it  be  the  simplest  form  of  speech,  we  prayed; 
prayed  for  the  stricken,  sorrowing,  agonizing, 
groaning  sinner,  pleading  the  invitations  and 
promises,  pleading  the  shed  blood  of  a  crucified 
Saviour  as  sufficient  to  save  a  million  worlds. 
The  arrow  of  conviction  was  deep  in  the  peni- 
tent's soul,  but  his  new-born  faith  was  yet  too 
feeble  to  reach  the  only  hand  that  could  extract  it. 

For  several  days  Sanderson  remained  under 


14  SANDERSON 

the  lashings  of  a  terrified  guilty  conscience,  still 
wrestling  for  pardon  and  peace.  But  the  mo- 
ment of  deliverance  came.  Sanderson  was  on 
his  knees ;  the  earnest  cry,  "  0  God,  for  Christ's 
sake,  blot  out  mine  iniquities,  and  save  my  pjor 
guilty  soul,"  burst  from  a  heart  of  anguish. 
These  words  were  the  sublime  strain  that  reached 
the  Majesty  on  High ;  the  swift-winged  messen- 
ger of  reconciliation,  with  the  still  small  voice, 
whispered,  "  Thy  gins,  which  are  many,  are  all 
forgiven.  Thy  faith  has  saved  thee,  go  in  peace." 

Sanderson  rose  from  his  knees  a  new  man ; 
he  was  now  unspeakably  happy.  Heaven  had 
supplanted  hell ;  his  enraptured  soul  burst  forth 
in  praises  and  thanksgiving.  The  change-  made 
a  noise  in  the  neighborhood ;  his  old  acquaint- 
ances reported  that  he  was  wrong  in  his  head  ; 
and,  if  they  were  right,  he  was  wrong,  for  now 
they  were  wide  as  the  poles  asunder.  He  sent 
an  apology  to  the  two  ministers  he  had  insulted, 
shook  hands  with  old  Philip  the  shoemaker,  and 
for  several  months  tried  to  undo  the  injury  he 
had  done,  by  speaking  to  old  and  young  of  the 
power  of  saving  grace.  Reading  the  Bible  was 
his  delight,  and  many  passages  in  the  New  Tes- 
tament he  committed  to  memory.  He  was  now 
a  happy  man. 

Sanderson's  change  of  heart  had  such  an  in- 
fluence on  his  health,  that  great  hopes  were  en- 

30 


AND  LITTLE  ALICE.  15 

tertained  he  would  entirely  recover.  He  often 
expressed  his  conviction  that  "  if  anything  could 
give  a  sick  man  a  chance  of  being  restored  to 
health,  peace  with  God,  through  Jesus  Christ 
would  ;  for  a  happy  soul  would  do  much  towards 
strengthening  a  sickly  body.  His  recovered 
strength  enabled  him  to  attend  the  house  of  God, 
and  no  man  in  Rochdale  more  enjoyed  the  means 
of  grace.  The  songs  and  prayers  of  the  sanctu- 
ary, and  the  glad  tidings  of  salvation  through  a 
preached  gospel,  filled  his  soul  with  deep  emo- 
tion. He  sought  the  company  of  religious  men, 
and  spent  many  pleasant  hours  with  the  old 
Christian  shoemaker.  The  Bible  was  his  con- 
stant-companion, and  he  committed  to  memory 
the  hymn  he  first  heard  repeated  by  little  Alice. 
He  often  wished  he  had  been  converted  when 
young,  that  he  might  have  had  the  pleasures  and 
labors  of  a  godly  life.  All  fear  of  death  was 
gone,  and  he  felt  a  desire  to  live  chiefly  that  he 
might  do  some  good  in  the  cause  of  God  and  the 
Church.  But  it  was  otherwise  determined;  for, 
being  caught  in  a  heavy  shower  of  rain,  he  took 
a  severe  cold,  and  soon  became  unable  to  leave 
his  bed. 

I  was  much  with  him  during  his  last  sickness. 
One  fine  Sabbath  morning  early,  just  before  leav- 
ing town  to  fulfil  my  engagements  at  Littlebor- 
ough,  I  called  to  make  what  I  believed  would  bo 


16  SANDERSON  AND  LITTLE  ALICE. 

a  farewell  visit.  He  was  raised  high  in  bed,  with 
several  pillows  behind  to  support  his  now  sink- 
ing frame.  He  smiled  feebly,  reached  out  his 
thin  clammy  hand,  and,  in  a  whisper,  quoted 
three  lines  from  the  child's  piece — 

"  See  smiling  patience  smoothes  my  brow, 
See  the  kind  angels  waiting  now, 
To  waft  my  soul  on  high," 

and  then  asked  if  I  was  going  to  preach  some- 
where. 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  "  morning  and  afternoon 
at  Littleborough." 

"  Will  you  let  me  find  you  a  text,  and,  if  you 
do  not  preach  from  it  to-day,  preach  from  it  as 
soon  as  you  can  ?" 

Hear,  ye  ministers  of  the  cross,  what  sort  ot 
texts  dying  men  wish  us  to  preach  from-  "  This 
is  a  faithful  saying,  and  worthy  of  all  acceptation, 
that  Christ  Jesus  came  into  the  world  to  save 
sinners ;  of  whom  I  am  chief."  This  was  dying 
Sanderson's  choice,  and  he  specially  wished  mo 
not  to  leave  out  the  last  words,  "  Of  whom  I 
am  chief." 

In  a  few  hours,  the  soul  of  this  chief  of  sinners, 
saved  by  grace,  took  its  flight  across  the  border- 
land, to  join  a  Magdalene  and  a  Saul  of  Tarsus 
in  singing  the  praises  of  redeeming  love. 

82 


i ' 


STRANGE  TALES  MOM  HUMBLE  LIFE. 

BY   JOHN    ASHWORTH. 


Fine  Edition,  Four  Series,  cloth,  limp.  The  First  and  Second, 
bound  in  one  volume,  cloth,  boards,  or  extra  cloth,  gilt 
edges,  with  steel  portrait  of  the  Author ;  also  Third  and 
Fourth  in  one  volume,  gilt  edges. 

These  remarkable  Tales  are  still  kept  as  Tracts,  of  which 
nearly  Three  Millions  have  already  been  sold. 

FIRST  SERIES. 


t.  Mary;  a  Tale  of  Sorrow. 

8.  The  Dark  Hour.    „  [Men. 

5.  A   Wonder;  or,    The  Two  Old 
1.  Sanderson  and  Little  Alice. 

6.  Wilkins. 

6  &  7.  The  Dark  Night. 


(and'  II. 
Parts  I.' 


8.  Joseph  ;  or,  The  Silent  Corner. 

9.  My  Mother. 

10.  Niff  and  his  Dogs. 

11.  My  New  Friends. 

12.  My  New  Friends. 

13.  My  New  Friends. 


Part  I. 
Part  II. 
Part  III. 


SECOND  SERIES. 


U.  Mothers.  [Prayer. 

15.  Twenty  Pounds ;  or,  The  Little 

16.  All  is  Well. 

17.  My  Uncle;  or,  Johnny's  Box. 

18.  Old  Adam. 

19.  Ellen  Williams. 


20.  Trials. 

21.  Answered  at  Last. 

22.  Priscilla.  [Step. 

23.  Julia ;  or,    The   First    Wrong 

24.  No  Cotton. 

25.  My  Young  Ragged  Friends. 


THIRD  SERIES. 


26  The  L«st  Curl. 

27.  Emmott. 

26.  The  Widow. 

29.  Sarah ;  or,  "  I  Will  hav«  Him ! ' 

SO.  My  Sick  Friends.    Part  I. 

SI-  My  Sick  Friends.    Part  II. 


32.  Geoege. 

33.  James  Burrows. 

34.  John  and  Mary. 

35.  A  Sad  Story. 

36.  Lucy's  Legacy. 

37.  Edmund. 


FOURTH  SERIES. 


B8.  The  Golden  Wedding. 
SO.  William  the  Tutor. 
40.  Fathers, 
tl.  Little  Susan. 
feJ.  Old  Matthew. 
43.  Old  Abe. 


44.  Milly. 

45.  The  Fog  Bell. 

46.  Mrs.  Bowden. 

47.  Happy  Ned. 

48.  Harry. 

49.  A  Dancer. 


WALKS    IN    CANAAN. 

By  same  Author.    304  pages,  with  7  full-page  illustrations.    Cloth,  or 
extra  cloth,  gilt  edges. 


***"  Mr.  Ashworth's  Tales  and  Books  are  above  my  praise  ;  they  are 
circulated  I  believe,  not  by  thousands,  but  by  millions,  and  the  result 
is,  that  the  naine  of  John  Ashworth  is  a  Household  Word,  not  only  in 
the  lordly  halls,  but  in  the  lowly  homes  of  England."  —  Dr.  Guthrie. 


